Falling In
by Daelda
Summary: A glimpse into the world of younger Cato and Clove in the transition from inseparable friends to something more.
1. Chapter 1

When we first showed up, the place didn't seem like much. The fights happened in an old abandoned warehouse full of dust and dirt with a roped-off ring in the middle for combatants. The whole thing felt like something my father would have liked, and I found myself wondering how many of the old battered gamblers might have known him back when he was alive. A lot of them looked like his sort; mean, apathetic, and grungy. A few were pretty drunk too.

Cato stood out in the dimly lit crowd like a solitary breath of fresh air. Barely 16, he was already taller and wider across the shoulders than most, and his Training Centre muscle was tight and smooth compared to most of the burly or wiry men dropping into the ring. Even the younger ones weren't sleek like Cato and he earned nearly as many cat calls as he did fearful looks as he pushed our way toward the organizer. The man was dirty and half-drunk, but when his eyes landed on Cato, they lit up.

"Hey! Come to get your hands dirty?" He called over the noise. Cato grasped the man's hand without a second thought and gestured at me.

"Tag, this is Clove." The man's countenance shifted as he turned to look me over. "She's small," Cato said with a rueful and discreet wink at me, "but she doesn't disappoint."

He'll pay for that later.

Tag's eyes wander over me, but unlike Augustus who makes my skin crawl when he does it, this feels more like a salesman looking over new stock. His eyes finally come to rest on the silver knife I twirl between my fingers; the same one Cato tried to take years ago.

"You good with knives, girl?"

"Good enough," I smirk.

"You know these fights are hand-to-hand only, right?"

"I can handle that."

"And you're 16? That's one of the only rules 'round here."

"Last November," I lie easily.

The look on Tag's face doesn't betray confidence, but he looks to Cato again for reassurance and seems to decide I might be worth something. "Alright," he relents. "I'll put you in the lineup and we'll see what you can do. Ole' Mero still needs a–"

"Not Mero," interrupts Cato. "That's insulting. There's got to be someone else."

"Alright," he relents, turning to finger through the filthy pages of a log book. "Want Cas?"

Cato still looks dissatisfied. "What about Davik? I saw him on our way in. I know he's here."

Tag gives a relenting sigh. "Yeah… I think I can move some stuff around. Ambitious, aren't we? Know from tangling with her yourself?" he asks with a toothy grin.

The innuendo is not lost on me. "Set it up," I hiss, flipping the knife more quickly. I don't need Cato's reputation to get respect and the prospect of 'tangling' with him makes me jumpy.

"And you?" Tag asks, turning to Cato, who looks more amused than he should at the remark. He'll pay for that later too.

"What's the next one you've got?"

"Well, Dak's headed in now, but I can put you in after. Got a guy who's lookin' to mess up that pretty face of yours. New guy by the name of Sal, over there…" He points across the room to one of the men leaning against the back wall. "Want 'im?"

"Absolutely"


	2. Chapter 2

The instant Cato drops into the ring his body is alive with energy. I've seen him do it a million times back in the Arena, but somehow it's different here. The dusty lighting is less clinical than the Training Centre, illuminating his skin and highlighting the contours of his arms and back, even beneath his shirt.

He circles with his opponent, who I now see is about his same size, but older and more weathered, not new to the scene at all. His stature is impressive, and there's a wily look to his face and his movement, but right away I know he's no match for Cato's technique and ferocity.

It makes it less interesting. I flip the knife carelessly, watching as the man lunges at Cato only to be devastatingly countered. The rest of the match is quick and effortless. As I watch it, my mind wanders back to what Tag said about Cato's pretty face. Even as he fights, the men are calling him pretty boy. It's strange, because I don't think of him that way. He's an obvious standout here, with his powerful build and youthful luster. He's a lot more taken care of than most of the people here, but even back at the Centre I've seen the girls stumbling for his attention. I never bothered to think about it much, because he was always too driven to succeed. He never noticed them and I never cared or questioned, but suddenly I realize he's not 13 anymore.

While he's distracted and easily winning, I take the opportunity to really look at him for the first time in two years. What I find isn't surprising, I've always appreciated it to some degree, but I realize the changing detail has escaped me somehow. Training has been good to him. Really good. His body is strong and astoundingly agile for his height and build. I knew that much already. What surprises me is how quickly I recognize what everyone else sees: the narrow waist, deep chest, and broad shoulders. His shoulders catch me especially. I've always liked the tilt of them, just arrogant enough and still completely unconcerned. Untouchable. Cato isn't just solid though. There's something undeniably aesthetic about him. I can't imagine what a strange duo we must look like side by side.

As his opponent surrenders and the announcer jumps inside the ring to raise Cato's hand, I shift my attention to his face; the clean angles, strongly shaped jaw, straight nose and soft mouth. His eyes are what catch me though, the same way they always have; intelligent and fierce, and oddly enough they are anything but cold. People always tell me my eyes are cold, feral even, but it's just one more thing to add to the list of what makes us opposites.

Cato climbs over the roping and heads back to where I'm waiting. I silently hand him his district token before he sits down, hastily dropping it around his neck as he does and flicking a small towel over his shoulder.

"That was small news. Cassius could have kicked that guy's teeth in without even thinking about it. I hope yours is better."

"Speaking of; who is this guy you're so eager to see me up against?" I heckle him aimlessly.

He smiles suspiciously and lifts his shoulders noncommittally in a way that makes me think he might be getting my vengeance more than twice tonight. "You'll see," he grins.


	3. Chapter 3

He was tall, the man I fought. He was three times my age and at least four times my weight, and each of his massive upper arms was thicker than my waist. But he was slow and stupid. I was fast and smart. The only time I even came close to losing is when I glanced over at Cato, who stood back where the lighting was bad and didn't say a word.

"Really, Davik?" I quip at him when it's over, snatching the towel from his hand as he laughs.

"Dry off for a minute. I'm going to collect our prize," he laughs, ruffling my hair before dodging around me and taking off around the ring toward Tag's little table.

I wonder why he even bothers with the money and sit down in a huff to wipe the sweat off my face and arms, surprised at how tired I am. At the Training Centre, only a few people have more impressive stature than Cato, and Davik is easily my biggest opponent to date. I see why Cato picked him. Now I have some respect here. No one is looking at me like an easy target anymore, especially when Cato returns to my side and drops down beside me. It makes my blood boil a little bit to think that they still keep an eye on him more than me, but at least they're beginning to fear me.

"Got it," Cato says, handing me a coin purse and leaning over so I can hear him better over the crowd that's gone crazy about the next fight. "Let's get going. There's somewhere else I want to take you before we head back."

He grabs my wrist to keep me tightly behind him as he weaves his way toward one of the back exits, slipping out unnoticed before releasing me and breaking into a run. I shake my head, irritated with him for his energy, but keep my mouth shut as I jog behind.

I start to understand the need for our pace as he winds through back roads, skirting around the Training Centre and up into the foothills. When we finally stop, it's at a massive old house so far off the beaten road that I'm ready to kill him.

His easy manner quickly disarms me though as he heads around the side and opens up a basement hatch to reveal a ladder dropping into darkness. He flashes a smile at me before hanging himself over the edge and letting go.

If he thinks I'm going down there he's crazy. "What are you doing?" I hiss down at him, worried that someone in the house above will hear. A minute later a pale light fills the opening and I know he's not coming out until I relent. "Fine," I whisper, more to myself than him, climbing over the edge and down the ladder.

What I find inside is less interesting than I was anticipating. Other than a single hanging bulb, there's nothing in the space except musty air and Cato is nowhere to be seen. Begrudgingly, I head for the door on the far wall and nearly crash into him on his way back for me.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Oh relax, Clove" he says in exasperation. "Nobody lives here."

I still whisper for some reason. "How on earth do you know this place?"

Seeing hesitation written all over my face, he takes my wrist again and leads me further into the dark hallway. "Gretta used to make house calls here. They guy was crazy rich and sometimes she'd bring me along to play with his son as a distraction. He died a few years back. House's been empty since."

My skin crawls in the darkness despite Cato's hand on my wrist as he leads me all the way to the last room at the end of the hall. Once we're inside the door he curtly releases me, causing me to inch closer to him for protection as he fumbles with something. I quickly step back when he lights a match and puts it to the wick of the lone candle on the bookshelf in front of us before blowing the match out. If he notices my proximity, he doesn't mention it, distracted as he drops into a squat and digs out an old lockbox from one of the lower shelves.

"Still have that purse?" He asks, looking back at me.

I don't like how dependent on him I feel right now. I don't like this place at all. "How badly to you want it?" I ask, smiling more confidently than I feel, looking for any distraction. Even if he's relaxed here, I'm not.

"Clove, haven't you had enough trouble for one night?" he leers, one side of his mouth quirking up in amusement.

"If I had, whose fault would that be?"

"I did you a favor back there," he retorts, standing up and drifting towards me. "But I'll tell you what; if you give me that purse, I'll let you have this back." Slowly, he draws my silver knife from his pocket, and I realize he never returned it after my match. A stupid smile spreads across his face as he waits to see how I'll respond, tapping it against the palm of his hand smugly. For some reason my heart kicks up.

I'm suddenly reminded of the first time he tried to take it from me, and the vicious fight that followed. Here he is again, toying with me just because he can, and I'm tempted to jump on him for principle's sake alone, but as tired as I am from the fight and the run I know I'm not in any state to challenge him so I stare at him defiantly instead, refusing to look away first.

"You really want to start that again, Cato?" I threaten. "Remember what happened last time? Or do you need me to refresh your memory?"

His lips twitch up at the corners, drawing my attention briefly before he decides to move closer, taunting me. "Last time I checked, I was the one with the knife, Nightlock. Make the trade…" he insists, reveling in his advantage. His blue eyes know I'm bluffing, which irritates me on some level.

I know if I take the bait and lunge at the knife he'll never let me have it. He's waiting for it. Any other night I might have tried, but for now I decide to concede, pulling the small coin purse from my pocket and offering it to him with a narrow glare.

He laughs in response, flipping the blade over like a hinge to offer me the handle. I take it from him, tossing the purse as I slip the knife into its place on my belt and watch him cross back over to the lockbox.

"Why do you keep that here anyway?" I ask, wondering why he bothers collecting it at all. The Centre gives us everything we need and after the Games we'll either be rich or dead. It'll never matter.

"Never know when it'll come in handy," he shrugs.

With a click, the lid shuts and Cato slides the key back under the candle before blowing it out and plunging us into darkness. Instantly my skin prickles and every muscle in my body tenses.

"Cato…"

His hand closes around my bicep. "Hey, don't you trust me?" He mutters lightly in my ear, his hot breath spilling onto my neck. His chest brushes against my shoulder and I realize he's closed the space between us. In an effort to control my fear, I shrink back against him.

"Yes, now get me the hell out of here!"

"Relax, Clove" he insists with a laugh.

His big hands take hold of my shoulders and push me in the direction of the hall. As soon as I see the light, I take off running and leave him far behind.


	4. Chapter 4

The clouds have mostly cleared by the time I escape the cellar. I try to regain some semblance of my pride as Cato shuts the hatch behind us, laughing hysterically at my performance. I flip the knife in irritation as I wait.

"You are horrible!" I yell, shoving him when he comes near. "You are the most despicable, obnoxious, irritating bastard! I can't believe you did that!"

"Feeling a little vindictive tonight, aren't we?"

Blood boiling, I try to stop the rush of relief that rises up to take its place. I draw the knife and point it at him so that my face looms behind the blade. "If you ever do that again…"

"What? You'll decide you want to 'tangle' with me?"

"That is not funny!" I exclaim, unable to stop the laugh from escaping. "That was terrible!"

"I'm trying to decide how offended I should be by your reaction to the idea," Cato grins. "You looked like you wanted to rip his guts out for even suggesting it."

I shake my head at him ridiculously. "I don't need your ride your reputation to get people to think I'm–" Before I've even finished, I regret it. Cato fights hard to take me seriously and refrain from anything more than a quizzical expression, but he fails miserably and busts up all over again. "No," I cry, "I… Just don't! Don't even go there!" I bury my face in my hands and kick at the ground.

"I won't…. I won't," he says, pulling himself together.

As awkward as I've made it, I can't take my eyes off his face. It's rare that I get to see him so disarmed and his mirth, even at my expense, makes my whole chest feel warm and alive. That might just be the embarrassment though.

Suddenly I'm very glad it's dark.

"Did you see the look on Tag's face at the end of your match?" he grins, shaking his head proudly.

"No, but I hope he choked on something."

"I'm pretty sure his mouth was hanging open," Cato assures me, his smiling eyes lingering on mine longer than they usually do. I force myself to glance away.

Deciding to ignore my companion, I lie down on the grassy hill indignantly and try to focus on looking up at the sky, amazed at how clear the summer night is when I actually look. I'm surprised when Cato quickly sits down beside me. He lets out a long breath and says nothing.

Like always, his presence is soothing so I focus on relaxing. I close my eyes and try not to think at all, pushing everything aside. It's easy at first when I let the weariness from my match wash over me, but soon my brain begins its familiar pattern of analyzing every moment, searching for weak spots in my performance. Despite my obvious size disadvantage, I did pretty well. I toyed with the idiot a little more than necessary, but showmanship would only win me respect in the beginning. There's nothing fault-worthy in that. That's not the part of the match that bothers me.

What irritates me is that I almost let the oaf get a hold of me. I distinctly remember my focus shifting away from him for a second. Cato caught my attention just past his left shoulder and I lost concentration in an instant, distracted so much by the image of him leaning against the pillar with arms folded across his chest that I nearly missed my opponent's hand reaching out to catch my arm. Luckily I found myself in time, but that was a mistake I wouldn't make again.

I envy Cato, who's all instinct, but somehow never misses a beat in the ring. His focus was perfect as usual and his technique, while sloppy, was effortless. Watching him relax without all of our trainers watching him is refreshing in a way. He is completely natural. The tools mentors give him are useful, but what has always been most impressive about Cato is the natural instinct he never has to work at. He never has to search for openings. He picks them up automatically. His cunning blue eyes are much more perceptive than people give him credit for.

He is a lot of things people never realize. I imagine if the people at the Centre ever saw him the way he is when we're alone, they wouldn't recognize him. He gifts me with his unarmed loyalty and lets me in on his whole person, not just the side that spends every day striving toward the Hunger Games we both know he can win. It's more than camaraderie. It's a companionship that a beaten six-year-old trapped in a dark basement with knives never imagined was possible. It's like a drug, and I need it more than he knows.

I suspect it's the same for him. Being raised in a brothel gave him a better advantage than me, but it still wasn't much. Gretta was a good mother-figure to him when she could afford to be and she loved him in her own way. The imprint of it lasts in his mind, evidenced by where we are. Gretta's calls here were less than savory in nature, but the place's association ties him to her.

He wouldn't like me thinking about this, I realize. Some things are given freely in sentiment, but are not meant to be elaborated on. It is enough for him to bring me here. The rest of its meaning belongs to him.

"Would you lay down?" I say without opening my eyes. "You're making me uncomfortable sitting there staring at me."

"Why would I be staring at you?" He says in a low voice, laying down quietly a few feet away.

"Only you know. I'm not even curious." I say nonchalantly.

After a moment, I turn my head and look at where he's settled just out of arm's reach, dissatisfied by the distance. I weigh my options, ultimately deciding to forget appearances. This is Cato after all. Unabashed, I scoot across the space so that we're only a few inches away from being shoulder to shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye I see him turn to look at me curiously, but I don't reply to his unanswered question.

Rather than letting it be, Cato props himself up on one arm so that he's looking down at me, leaning dangerously close.

I still refuse. Looking over casually, I give him an insouciant expression that makes him narrow his eyes suspiciously and raise an eyebrow at me. I smile a little, amused by his strange talent. "You're going to have to teach me that someday," I point out, defusing the tension. "You know I'm the jealous type. It's for your own good really."

"What are you talking about?" He asks, curiosity unintentionally amplifying it.

I give him my best attempt and a wide grin spreads across his face as he immediately catches on. "Yeah, I can't really teach that, but please keep trying!"

"It's not fair," I complain.

That one corner of his mouth is quirked up again, making him look almost lighthearted in the dim light, and for the first time I don't mind how close he is. I like it in an odd way. My eyes drift up to the mess of dirty blonde hair that is somehow still perfectly in place and I realize just how many times he's broken my rules about physical contact today. Even though he's not actually touching me now, I feel so connected to him that he might as well be. In an inexplicable way I almost want him to.

I barely breathe as he smiles down at me. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks, his voice dropping a little in the stillness.

I wonder that myself. Rarely has anyone been this close to me before; no one except my father and Vilkus and never without bloodshed. Cato has my complete trust, but trust can't explain the peace that's blossoming into something even stranger in my chest.

"I could ask you the same question," I deflect, recognizing the disarmed state of his expression.

A conflicted look crosses his face and his eyes stray down toward my mouth. Something like adrenaline trickles into my veins, paralyzing me.

He leans down to kiss me and for a second I can't think. My mind goes blurry with the feel of his lips and the warmth of his presence and everything else disappears. I try to recall some coherent thought, any thread of the chaos that plagues me, but it drowns in the bliss of his touch – the feel of his hand in my hair. In the span of that first moment, I fall irreparably in love with the way he silences me. My body reacts almost instantly, giving in to him, and I find my hands reaching up to move across his intoxicating skin and pull him closer.

An infectious smile breaks across his lips and parts us for a second before he kisses me again, overpowering my senses and banishing the space between us as he melts against me, pulling me up against him even as he presses back. I'm sure he's going to crush me, but I don't care.

He doesn't try though. An instant later his lips release me, and I'm glad I'm lying down, because it feels like nothing is in balance but him. Only the presence of his face, millimeters from mine, feels real. For a second I want desperately to close the gap, but I'm almost too stunned to take the initiative. I tilt my face up so our lips barely touch as we silently catch our breath and I feel him smile – feel the appreciative puff of breath against my skin before he detangles himself from me completely.

The air feels suddenly very cold and empty without him. I watch as he rolls onto his back beside me and looks up into the night sky without saying a word. I don't know what to do, what to think. I've never shared something so personal with anyone before and it makes my whole body thrum with a strange craving I never knew existed. I'm not sure if I like it; the way I feel now; the amount of power he has over me suddenly. And yet I can't pull myself away.

I wonder what it means; what he possibly expects to happen now. He closes his eyes and I try discreetly to study the tension in his face; trying to figure out if he feels as tumultuous as I do, but he betrays nothing.

"Stop staring at me, Clove" he murmurs mockingly.

"I'm not staring," I lie, taking my chance to look up at the sky before he checks; which he does. I feel Cato's eyes linger on me briefly, but I push the thought out of my mind, focusing inward instead.

The silence stretches out between us. Cato is aggravatingly comfortable in it. In fact, he looks more peaceful than I've ever seen him. Part of me feels like that – deeply connected for the first time in my life, yet questions also bubble up to the surface of my mind. I wonder how long he's been planning this – or if he even thought of it at all until that moment. I don't know if it was a strange blip in our friendship or the first spark of a fire. It feels like a spark. Something in me ignited that I'm afraid to let burn, but uncertain if I can stop.

I want to reach out and touch him for reasons I can't explain, but I don't. Instead, I let myself rest in the oddly-wrought calm of his presence. Since I was twelve he's been my only shelter and my companion, and we have always been connected, but somehow this is more. It runs deeper; like something inside my chest reaches for him and pulls at my heart while it does, leaving a tangible link invisible through the air between us, drawing me to him. I'm not alone in this either, if the serenity of his expression tells me anything.

I close my eyes and banish my questions; banish everything that just transpired. This moment is tranquil and perfect –a rarity in my life– so I let it soak in and stretch on endlessly.


	5. Chapter 5

It's the chilly air that finally stirs me, but only when I notice Cato's shallow, rhythmic breathing do I truly realize how much time has elapsed.

I glance over at his still features, gentler in sleep, and trace every line with my eyes, indulging myself while I have the opportunity. At the Training Centre we quickly learn to guard ourselves from everyone – even the people we trust most. It's a lesson he and I grasped long before we came and it colors this moment between us, that he would relax so completely in my presence. It's the peak of vulnerability, especially here and now. Deep down I want to repay him and somehow return the generous gift.

More than anything, I want to touch him. He knows how I am about it, that my reaction is often visceral and violent, but I want to break that rule completely for him. Slowly, I lift my body over his slack arm and set myself against his side so that the entire length of my body rests against him. Gently I lay my head against his chest and wrap my hand around a fistful of his shirt for reassurance.

I don't relax at first. Slowly Cato's chest swells as he sucks in a long, waking breath and instantly I am absorbed in him again, my mind emptying of everything else the same way it did when he kissed me. Then silently his arm curls up around my exposed back, draping over my waist and pressing his fingers against my stomach. It's a simple gesture, but even half-awake he knows what it means. I melt against him, physically and mentally, allowing myself to drift off in the safety of this space. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know we'll be flogged if we sleep through roll-call, but this is worth it.


	6. Chapter 6

Breathless from the run back and the excitement of stealing around corners, a constant chorus of please, please, please… fills my head to the point of obsession as we dart down the last hallway.

"Clove, he already knows!" Cato insists, lagging behind to intentionally grate on my nerves. "What is he going to do – lash us?"

"He'll suspend our training!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Clove!" He laughs as we reach my door and I turn to face him. His hand presses against the door beside my head and he leans into it casually; pressing into my space like he's done a million times before.

"Just give me my key," I hiss, only half amused by his antics. "Neither of us can afford to miss training. Not if we want to make it into the Games."

An arrogant grin plays at Cato's lips and annoyingly the strange heat in my chest flares up more than the anger does. "You can always train with me," he says. "We'll get more in than anybody in the Arena."

"Then they'll lash you and suspend me. Cato, please!" I beg, trying to ignore his nearness. It's never bothered me before, but after tonight –after kissing him– it makes me stupid to have his face so close.

Hoping he doesn't notice, I make an exasperated face at him. Without a second thought he pulls my golden key from his pocket and offers it to me, dangling it as an offering in the air between us, but I know he has no intention of letting me leave just yet. His hand firmly planted against the door is a clear sign. Uncertain what to expect, I take the key.

"Thanks for taking me tonight," I say earnestly. "Getting more than training duals is worth it any day."

Cato nods nonchalantly and I watch the malcontent unfold in his eyes as he looks at me, searching my face for something else. My gaze moves slowly down to eye-level; to the notch at the base of his throat where an open button exposes the smooth skin underneath and his looming proximity makes my heart quicken in my chest. I glance up and catch his eyes for an instant before he leans in.

It's quick –a simple press of his lips against mine– but it's enough to make my body completely melt and my mind fall utterly adrenaline-silent. "We'll have to do it again sometime then," he murmurs as his eyes drift up to meet mine. "I'll let you know."

"Okay" I agree, still reeling from his audacity as he steps back and starts off down the hallway.


End file.
